by Matt Rogers
Out King’s windshield the traffic inched forward. ‘Violetta and I both heard sirens last night. It’s a miracle you didn’t wind up in custody.’
‘We very nearly did. Alonzo’s going to scope out the scene today.’
King checked the opposite lane. ‘I can turn around if you need. Do a drive by, see what’s going on.’
‘Not worth it,’ Slater said. ‘We don’t know who knows what. If Boston PD have a witness statement putting us together at the hospital, then you’ll be apprehended if you drive past a crime scene and get recognised.’
‘Doubtful, but—’
‘Wait,’ Slater said, cutting him off. ‘“Turn around”? Where are you headed?’
King explained his predicament.
Slater waited a few beats to digest it after King was finished. Then he said, ‘This has to be connected.’
‘Right. There has to be something between Dwayne and Myles. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Rebecca makes an offhand comment to Myles about the boy, Myles tells Dwayne, Dwayne calls Tyrell.’
Slater said, ‘You know what I’m going to tell you, don’t you?’
‘I have an idea.’
‘We need to be fucking ruthless with this,’ Slater said. ‘There’s too many unknowns, and we’re on the back foot. We don’t know how far Myles’ influence spreads, how many fellow cops he has under his wing. That’s not even mentioning what sort of power Dwayne might wield. I took out eight of his men, but what if that’s just the start? The last thing we need is bent cops and drug gangs in cahoots, sweeping Winthrop for signs of us when you’ve got a newborn child in the mix. You understand?’
It supercharged King with motivation, right when he’d been experiencing the beginnings of a lull in energy. The tension of labour, coupled with the confrontation with Myles in the hospital, had drained him of stamina.
He said, ‘I understand. I’ll handle the cop side. You get Dwayne.’
‘On it.’
‘Any idea how you’ll hunt him down?’
‘Tyrell must know details of his operation. Things he’s witnessed over the years. It might be buried, but I’ll get it out of him. I just need to ask when the time is right.’
King paused for thought. ‘That kid deserves better than the hell he grew up in.’
‘Obviously,’ Slater said. ‘You think I’d throw a wrench in the works of my own life for no reason?’
King said, ‘Did you think about it? Before you did it, I mean. Did you know the sort of mess it might create?’
‘Of course.’
‘And you were okay with that?’
‘It’s not about me.’
King hesitated. Rarely did he hear something truly selfless. ‘You’re a better man than me.’
‘That’s bullshit,’ Slater said. ‘Look what you’re doing right now.’
He had to think that over. ‘I guess I see it as my responsibility. I beat up her boyfriend, tipped him over the edge. I should have dealt with it at the hospital instead of letting him walk away. It’s my fault she’s in danger.’
‘It’s not your responsibility. You just care about other people enough to step in.’
‘Maybe.’
‘You know what’s true and what isn’t.’
Slater left it at that, killed the call. King held the phone in his grip and rolled it all over in his mind.
He came away realising there was always going to be someone in need of help, always something he couldn’t ignore. Junior would eventually understand, he hoped.
Whatever the future held, King wouldn’t be much of a stay-at-home dad.
He finished the bumper-to-bumper crawl into the city and paid a horrendous fee to park near Atlantic Avenue. La Colombe Coffee Roasters was set in the ground floor of a multi-storey building, its entrance obscured by huge stone columns that propped up the portico. He kept his gait nonchalant so as not to attract attention and took the short three steps up to the building’s landing.
He walked straight into Rebecca.
She’d sprung from behind one of the columns, and for a fleeting moment he thought he might have to neutralise her. If Myles had put her up to the task of drawing King out of hiding, there’d be hell to pay.
But instead she gripped his wrist as covertly as she could and squeezed tight and hissed, ‘I was followed.’
‘Relax,’ King urged, before he’d even turned around to scope the scene.
Panic achieved nothing. In the history of mankind, frayed nerves had never made a situation better. They’re an involuntary, natural human response, but over time you can learn to override it. King gripped Rebecca’s shoulders and kept his face calm and his voice level as he said, ‘Take a breath. It’s okay.’
She let out a wavering rattle of air.
‘Who followed you?’ he asked.
‘Them.’
He spun, but slowly. Being jumpy leads to getting shot.
Two uniformed police officers beelined towards them, name badges and Boston PD shields on their breast pockets.
Neither were Myles.
King wasn’t about to get arrested by bent cops. There was no telling what they’d do with him once they had him in cuffs.
In the middle of a bustling city street, with a jam-packed coffee shop as a backdrop, he went for his gun.
50
The plan was simple.
Ascertain whether Slater and Alexis could ever go back to Pleasant Street.
Alonzo said, ‘I’ll do it.’
Slater said, ‘You don’t owe us anything.’
‘That’s bullshit and you know it.’
Slater left it at that. He wasn’t going to argue. He knew there was no one else who could scope out their home when the situation was this hot. So he let Alonzo clamber into his Ford Taurus in the complex’s communal garage, but he gave him a stipulation. He handed Alonzo a burner phone, grateful that Alexis had thought to throw one in the duffel the night before. ‘Stay on the line the whole time.’
‘You’re paranoid,’ Alonzo said, but he accepted the phone anyway. ‘They don’t know me.’
‘I don’t want to take any chances.’
Alonzo fired the Ford up and swung it out of the parking space, the exhaust chugging as it slunk out of sight. A square of white light flooded into the shadowy garage as the roller door came up, and then the car was gone. Seconds later Slater received an incoming call, and he swiped across the screen to answer.
‘This is stupid,’ Alonzo’s voice said.
Slater stayed where he was, in the centre of the vast concrete garage. ‘Keep the door up.’
‘Why?’
‘In case I need to get to you.’
‘You know something I don’t?’
‘No,’ Slater said. ‘I’ve just been taught to stay on guard.’
Alonzo said, ‘Almost there.’
They hadn’t been on the call for more than a minute, but Winthrop was tiny, and Pleasant Street was only a few blocks from Alonzo’s building.
Slater stayed quiet. He felt the steady thrum of his pulse in his neck and fought to keep it that way. He didn’t want to chew through his stamina with unnecessary nervous energy.
Alonzo said, ‘Street’s empty.’
‘Police tape?’
‘Can’t tell. No cruisers.’
‘Take it slow. Don’t make it obvious what you’re looking for.’
‘Why? There’s no cops around—’
‘I’m not worried about the fucking cops, Alonzo.’
‘Right.’
A few long seconds of silence.
Alonzo said, ‘No tape. No cars. I don’t think those sirens were for you last night.’
Could it be?
Or had Myles told them to back off?
Slater’s head spun.
Alonzo said, ‘Wait.’
His tone was heavy now.
Slater held his breath.
A beat of nothing…
Then, ‘Fuck. Jesus Christ. Will, I need you—’<
br />
‘What’s happening?’
‘Getting pulled over.’
‘Cops?’
‘No.’
Slater couldn’t afford to keep the phone pressed to his ear. He stayed on the call, but took off at a sprint toward the light at the end of the garage. He worked up to top speed, fast enough that he could seriously injure himself if he tripped, and burst forth from the garage into the daylight like he’d been shot out of a cannon.
Running full pelt through the streets of Winthrop, he brought the phone back to his ear quickly.
Couldn’t hear much.
Just the grunts and moans of Alonzo getting manhandled out of his car.
He willed his legs to turn over faster, activating every shred of muscle in his frame.
Pushed himself harder.
He covered half a mile in two and a half minutes, the soles of his feet blasting the concrete, and ripped into Pleasant Street to see two bulky figures dragging Alonzo by the collar like he weighed fifty pounds.
They were halfway up Slater’s driveway.
Taking him into the one place they knew was unoccupied.
The instant Slater saw what they were doing he changed direction and leapt clear over the hedge of the nearest property. He’d seen what was happening before they spotted him, and it had taken maybe half a second to realise he still had a hope of maintaining his life here in Winthrop if his home wasn’t compromised. What would seal his fate was a shootout in the middle of the street.
He came down on his side on a manicured front lawn and rolled across the grass to take the impact out of the landing. He tumbled to rest on his rear end, below the line of sight. The hedge loomed in a row of neat square parcels at his back.
He looked up the lawn and met the perplexed stare of an elderly woman perched in a rocking chair on her front porch. She was so frail it seemed a gust of wind might break her. So old it was like Father Time had passed her by, forgotten to go back and collect the debt.
Slater knew her.
Almost everyone on Pleasant Street knew each other.
‘Hello, Mrs. Owens,’ he said in a low voice so the sound didn’t travel up the street. ‘Sorry about that.’
Her eyes were wide but there was a slight sense of incomprehension, just that general blurry confusion that old age can apply to one’s perspective. She seemed foggy as she asked, ‘What was all that about, Will?’
Slater didn’t move, stayed seated. By now the goons would have Alonzo at the top of the driveway, but they might not be all the way inside yet.
He didn’t want to stand up into their line of sight.
He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘I tripped on the sidewalk, Mrs. Owens. Fell forward. I jumped so that I didn’t ruin your hedge. Are they okay?’
She squinted, looked above him. ‘They seem okay.’
‘That’s good. I’ll be on my way, then.’
‘Alright, dear.’
He kept seated for maybe another ten seconds and she didn’t seem to mind. She sure didn’t comment on it, maybe didn’t even notice. He figured she was on her way out. Enjoying the daylight that flooded the porch while she still could. She wasn’t disturbed, so she hadn’t heard Alonzo getting dragged out of his car down the street. That told Slater everything he needed to know.
He got up, one hand at his belt, ready to pull the Glock if he needed.
Maybe a dozen houses down, his driveway was empty.
He took a run-up, leapt back over the hedge, and broke into a sprint again. He wasn’t worried about what Mrs. Owens thought.
Seconds from now she would forget it had even happened.
51
The cops came at King.
He darted his hand toward the concealed holster at his waist.
But in those milliseconds where the most important decisions are made, something screamed at him to wait. It looked semi-unnatural given how fast he’d reacted, but he disguised the motion by pretending to swat a fly. To Rebecca, it would have seemed like a sudden jerk of violent motion, right beside her.
To the cops, it was a flash of something in their peripheral vision.
Because they weren’t looking at him.
Their gazes were fixed on the “LA COLOMBE” sign above and behind him.
They glanced at him as they passed by, funny looks on their faces. He was too tense for a random stranger, his movements too panicky. But if cops arrested everyone who acted strange around them they’d be doing it twenty-four hours a day, so the pair brushed it off and nodded politely to him as they went into La Colombe.
King composed himself fast enough to nod back.
Rebecca started shaking as soon as the café’s door swung shut behind them.
King breathed out, put a hand on the stone column, eased some relaxation back into his core. It took some doing. He was taut as steel. He’d been ready to gun down two police officers in the middle of Boston.
He kept his voice low, leant closer to her so she could hear him. ‘You sure they followed you?’
She had to think about it, but eventually she shook her head. ‘It was only for a few blocks. They must have been coming here, like me. Bad luck.’ She paused. ‘Or you think they were faking it just then? They saw you and backed off?’
‘No,’ King said. ‘They weren’t faking anything. I would have seen it.’
‘So we go in, then?’
‘You need to promise not to let everything freak you out. You’re too jumpy.’
‘I can’t help it.’
He sighed, shrugged to himself. Not much he could do. ‘Okay.’
They went in, got a table, ordered coffee. For him a double espresso, for her a decaf soy latte.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t do caffeine?’
‘I do. But my heart couldn’t take it right now.’
He nodded. He found it interesting that he’d barely registered a rise in his own pulse, despite getting close to a firefight. There was no use expending energy on anything until it actually happened.
She’d been drumming her fingers on the table, and now she blurted out, ‘What do I do?’
He looked at her. She was a mass of frayed nerves. ‘You breathe.’
‘What?’
‘Every time I’m talking, breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. In for three seconds, hold for three seconds, out for three seconds. You got it?’
She tried it. ‘I got it.’
‘Now listen,’ he said. ‘If you just want to talk this out, and you don’t want to deal with it, then I’m gone.’
She went through two iterations of the box breathing, uncertainty on her face the whole time. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Your boyfriend is in deep with the wrong crowd,’ King said. ‘You remember the other guy from the hospital? The one with the kid I didn’t recognise?’
She nodded.
‘His name is Will,’ King said. ‘I consider him my brother, and his life’s in danger. A very powerful, very angry drug dealer found out about him, sent men to try to kill him. It was Myles who told this dealer where he should be looking.’
Rebecca shook her head. ‘All I said was—’
King held up a hand. ‘It doesn’t matter. Whatever you said … it was enough.’
She stared at her hands, picked habitually at one of her nails.
He said, ‘So what I mean is, I’m not here for a counselling session. I’m here to take Myles out of the equation. If you don’t want to be part of that, I suggest you find someone else to help you.’
She flapped her lips helplessly.
Caught in an impossible predicament.
She said, ‘I have nowhere to go.’
‘That’s not my problem. I care about the safety of my family and my close friends.’
‘I’m in danger.’
‘And I’ll kill the person who’s threatening you.’
‘There’s no other option?’
‘What did you expect from this?’
‘I n
eeded someone to talk to…’
‘I’m not that person, Rebecca.’
‘What are you, then?’
King hesitated. ‘Best we don’t get into that.’
It looked like she might push her chair back, get up, and walk right out, but before she had the chance her phone barked its ringtone in her coat pocket.
‘Sorry,’ she stammered, face pale. ‘I thought I’d switched it—’
She cut herself off as she wriggled the phone free and saw the caller ID.
She didn’t have to say anything.
From the angle of the screen King could see the name plastered across the top: MYLES.
With a red love heart emoticon beside it.
52
Slater knew he’d be up against it.
The men he’d seen dragging Alonzo were built different. He was able to tell from that tiny glimpse he’d caught. The way they moved. The urgency of their actions. They weren’t rank amateur thugs who were alive only because they’d never been tested. These were actual mercenaries.
Outside help.
Which meant Dwayne was desperate, and desperate men with wounded egos were always the most dangerous.
Thankfully, this fight would take place in familiar territory.
Slater had home court advantage. Literally.
He bolted up his driveway and beelined straight down the side of the house. He found the section he was looking for, the ridge he knew was sturdy, and transitioned his jog into a run-up. His soles briefly scuffed the brick, the traction giving him just enough elevation to lunge up and grip the ridge several feet below the second storey window. He pulled himself up, using the momentum of the action, and yanked open the window he knew was unlocked.
He was inside the house less than ten seconds after stepping foot on his property.
He kept every movement slow once he was inside. Fell quietly to the carpet of the spare bedroom on the second floor, because he knew the material was thick enough to muffle the landing. Stayed down on one knee as he drew his Glock 43X fast. He’d kept it holstered as he went through the Spider-Man routine to get to the window. It wouldn’t have worked with one hand full.